


Hear the Thunder

by mostlyapples



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Australian Slang, Cunnilingus, F/M, French Kissing, Het, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlyapples/pseuds/mostlyapples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the prompt: Sniper/Any female or genderbend, Australian kisses (like a French kiss but down under.) I can only really show my love for this pairing as het, but I'll happily admit, it's yummy in any form.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear the Thunder

She had made it clear what she wanted out of their trysts, and he delivered. Sex - rough and hard, no strings attached, and above all, as discreet as could be within the privacy of his camper.  A relationship such as theirs, between two warring sides, replete with professional rivalry, topped off with a dose of natural and mutual scorn, did not warrant any tenderness, any romance, any feeling.

But despite his best intentions, he couldn’t help feel something for the Spy, something other than the urge to throw a jar full of piss at her suited form.  Not while she lay in bed curled up next to him like this, a sleepy smile on her painted lips, her pale skin shimmering in the watery moonlight that filtered through the dirty window, looking so utterly content to be there with him in spite of his having dumped at least two liters of good Australian urine on her not five hours earlier.  The Sniper shifted in bed, ostensibly to make more room for her in the crowded space, but mostly to get a better look at the woman who made his day hell and his night heaven.  Given permission to do whatever he wanted with her body, to fuck her however he wished, now the only thing on his mind was to kiss her and simply make love.

“That was a terrible kiss.”

He jerked his head back in surprise, nearly missed slamming it into the little bedside shelf where he had set his glasses alongside hers.

“Err, sorry,” he mumbled, face flushing scarlet.  “Thought… you wouldn’t notice.”

Her eyes flashed in the darkness, her smile wry and guarded.  “How could I not notice you huffing and puffing into my face the past five minutes?”  The Spy chuckled softly.  “I believe I said no kissing.”

“That wasn’t a kiss,” he protested. “More like a peck.” On the cheek, practically harmless.

“Exactly.  Now, this is a kiss.”

One slender arm reached up to yank him closer, and the Spy pressed her mouth to his firmly, taking advantage of his hitched gasp to probe further with her tongue between his teeth.  So subtle and slight, the way she nipped at his lower lip, ran her tongue over his, took his breath into her lungs and in exchange exhaled her warmth and passion into his body.  The Sniper did his best to match her, though with more teeth than tongue, but whatever passed for kissing in his past could not prepare him for the devastation of her superior technique.

It was clear, he was drowning in her, he would die a sailor to her siren, and his ghost would thank her for the honor. 

When finally she allowed him to retreat, he was annoyed to realize she seemed barely affected.  The faintest leeching of scarlet from her lips, a pretty blush darkening her cheeks, a sparkle of mischief in her sleepy blue eyes; the only evidence.  While his hair must have stuck out in all directions, his bottom lip surely nibbled to shreds, not to mention how he was heaving for breath as if he’d run a race twice over and his cock back at full mast and throbbing painfully.

“A French kiss,” he muttered with narrowed eyes.  “Shoulda expected that.”

She shrugged in a way calculated to most ignite his sympathy, and he had to tear his eyes away from the bounce of her breasts before he could remember why he was even scowling.

“But it is good, _non_?” she asked.

“S’all right, but I know better.”

“Oh really?”  The Spy looked highly skeptical that he, out of all of her lovers, could know of anything better than what her countrymen (and women) had perfected, what others sought to replicate.

“That would be an Australian kiss, love.”

“And what is an Australian kiss?”

“A French kiss, right, but down under.”

“Under?  Under where?”

Count on a spy to be curious.  It was almost too easy, the Sniper thought, grinning.  “That’s a start.”

He moved down closer to the foot of the bed, knocking elbows and knees against her ribs and hips on purpose, but she just squealed and kicked her feet in delight once she understood where he was heading. There was only a slip of blue silk and lace left garbing the Spy’s nude body, the final vestiges of her modesty left to remove, and so he indulged himself for a moment, to nuzzle between her soft thighs, rewetting her panties quickly with his mouth.  Smiling to himself, he listened for her pleased response, then removed the undergarment before gladly diving back in between those lush spread legs.  He pressed tender, open kisses everywhere, marveling silently at her heat, her heady scent, her sumptuous taste.  Her low moans and hitched breaths helped direct him to her secret spots, and with his fingers, the Sniper opened her further, better exposing her clit to the gentle, rhythmic ministrations of his lips and tongue.  Feeling her thigh muscles tense under his palms, he pushed into her decisively, snaking his tongue deep into her core, his heart jumping to hear her cry out in ecstasy.  Just to tease, he drew back, licking his lips in triumph as she snarled at him, frustrated, in strangled French.

“Have an idea now?”

“Get on with it, you idiot!” the Spy hissed.

“What was that?”  He was relishing the expression on her face as he worked slowly at her clit with his thumb, and nothing more.

“The kiss, the kiss,” she groaned helplessly, bucking into his hand.  “Please!”

Before she thought to retrieve her knife, the Sniper ducked down to continue the so-called kiss.  He took his time driving her to orgasm, wanting only to memorize her singular taste as he lapped and sucked at her wet heat, to forever imprint the sound of each shuddering gasp and moan as she edged closer to her limit into his mind.  He was still there by the time her restraint shattered, and she came with a high, keening sound, and he could have almost come from that alone.

“You’re beautiful,” he kept telling her, as she kissed him hard, as she drew him back into her with delicate fingers, as he mercilessly rocked against her welcoming body over and over, and spent himself in her with dizzying ferocity.

 

* * *

 

They were back to normal now, he knew, watching her light a cigarette in cold detachment.  That was just to explain, she would never go for something so intimate again, not a hard-hearted assassin like his Spy.  Too bad.  Because he liked being able to do that for her, would have done it as many times as she demanded, and happily.

She did not so much demand the next time as ask him, imperiously, what “down under” meant, which necessitated his showing Australia’s location on the map, to which she retorted that she already knew where it was, and that somehow resulted in a fight but finally ended with gloriously violent make-up sex… featuring all types of kisses.


End file.
